


Code Corruption

by classicfirefly



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Gen, a Connor-centric fic, and yes the fish is a valid character fight me on this, character study I guess, most characters mentioned only appear briefly, narrates Connor's plot but explores his perspective more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 08:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15815280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/classicfirefly/pseuds/classicfirefly
Summary: He is a machine, actions dictated by strings of code. Maybe he's just that. Maybe he's a little more human.





	Code Corruption

A dwarf gourami,  _ trichogaster lalius _ , owned by the Philipses.

 

It’s a fish.

 

Just a fish.

 

The welfare of the fish does not concern Connor, or his function, or the investigation.

 

It’s a fish.

 

Just a fish.

 

He slips it back into the tank.

 

_ { _ **_S_ ** _ of _ **_t_ ** _ w _ **_ar_ ** _ e i _ **_n_ ** _ sta _ **_bi_ ** _ l _ **_i_ ** _ t _ **_y_ ** _ } _

 

* * *

 

[objective: Find Lt Anderson]

 

Deviants are machines with irrationality in their programme, and his mission as always is to hunt them down.

 

_ >olfactory units detecting… _

_ >detecting… _

_ >olfactory units have detected heavy concentration of alcohol particles. _

_ >optic units have detected Detective Lieutenant Hank Anderson {facial recognition database confirmed} _

 

He’s never had to partner with a human, though. Connor isn’t sure how he feels about that, though he supposes he doesn’t feel anything at all, per se. A machine, no matter how advanced, can only follow what it is programmed to do, deviants notwithstanding. Even deviants, according to the working theory, are only able to emulate actions that indicate emotion, not actually feel it.

 

The lieutenant is ignoring him, downing glasses of alcohol. It certainly doesn't help the investigation.

 

_ >social.module {file opened: Interacting_With_Drunks} _

 

Connor offers to buy the man a drink. Somehow, it works, and the lieutenant has less of a scowl as he stands to go with Connor. Still, Connor can't help but sense - from nothing inherently that’s in his programme -  that there’s more complexity concealed in his partner than visible.

 

* * *

 

[objective: Chase the deviant]

 

Lieutenant Anderson’s probability of surviving is at 89%. Connor’s mission is to capture the WB200 android that calls itself Rupert.

 

Surely, the most logical course of action would be to run after Rupert. The lieutenant could very well haul himself up from the ledge with minimal injury sustained.

 

_ >evaluating situation.... _

_ >evaluating… _

 

Connor shouldn’t even be considering the risk of mission failure. It takes him 0.0012 of a second to process and act.

 

Rupert is sprinting away, further, further…

 

Connor turns away and reaches out an arm to pull Ha--- Lieutenant Anderson up.

 

_ { _ **_S_ ** _ o _ _ f _ **_t_ ** _ w _ **_ar_ ** _ e i _ **_n_ ** _ st _ _ a _ **_bi_ ** _ l _ **_i_ ** _ t _ **_y_ ** _ } _

 

* * *

 

“Let them go, Connor,” Lieutenant Anderson says quietly.

 

The investigation demands that he pursue the Tracis, in fact, Connor’s literally engineered to hunt down deviants and subdue them. These Tracis are threats to society. Human society.

 

They lock eyes as he feels the inner workings of his thirium pump beat once, twice, thrice.

 

He drops the gun, and tells himself that it’s a direct order he can’t disobey.

 

_ { _ **_S_ ** _ o _ _ f _ **_t_ ** _ w _ **_ar_ ** _ e i _ **_n_ ** _ st _ _ a _ **_bi_ ** _ l _ **_i_ ** _ t _ **_y_ ** _ } _

 

* * *

 

“ What about you, Connor? You  **look** human, you  **sound** human... but what are you  **really** ?”

 

There is a dark edge in Lieutenant Anderson’s voice, catching on the last word in such a way  that the android can’t quite grasp.

 

The immediate response prompted by his social module is of course, he’s Connor, the android sent by Cyberlife, model RK800, serial number 313 248 317-51, the android investigator prototype designed to assist the Detroit City Police Department.

 

He doesn’t say that. His social module seems to be glitching almost, static in the peripheral, sparks of words that Connor should not be saying at all, within reason, within strings of code that command him like a marionette. “I’m whatever you want me to be, Lieutenant. A partner...your buddy to drink with…” The words fade in his mouth. The urge to speak freely is gone as quickly as it had arisen, dissipating rapidly as his thoughts stabilise. “Or just a machine, designed to accomplish a task.”

 

Hank -- the police lieutenant isn’t yet satisfied by that answer, giving Connor a shove backwards. He brings up the Tracis. It’s a dangerous topic to breach, especially since the investigation had ultimately failed as a result of Connor’s ineffectiveness. “Why didn’t you shoot, Connor?”

 

Again, something foreign jolts Connor, grating and white-hot. He feels unsteady, his body ready to spur into action as if he’s entering the fray of an active crime scene. “I just decided not to shoot, that’s all.”

 

_ { _ **_S_ ** _ o _ _ f _ **_t_ ** _ w _ **_ar_ ** _ e i _ **_n_ ** _ st _ _ a _ **_bi_ ** _ l _ **_i_ ** _ t _ **_y_ ** _ } _

 

Why does he sound so defensive? ...Why is he questioning his tone? What is  _ wrong _ with his systems?

 

The lieutenant shifts and whips out a gun, pointing it straight at his head. “ But a re you afraid to  **die** , Connor?”

 

_ >determining threat response... _

 

Connor attempts to answer rationally. “I would certainly find it regrettable to be...interrupted...before I can finish this investigation.” The sentence sounds empty and meaningless. He wonders why he even bothers to say it.

 

“But what would happen if I pull this trigger? Hm?” Connor almost wishes that Lieutenant Anderson would stop talking. The more the latter speaks, the more his questions prod and twist their way into Connor’s programme, inducing cracks of some invisible wall that spread like cobwebs. “Nothing? Oblivion? Android heaven?”

 

“Nothing…” He intends it to sound neutral, indifferent, as he should sound like: in control of the situation. Instead, even Connor can detect the shred of fear in his automated voice. What is death to something that was never alive? He manages not to sound hollow. “There will be nothing.”

 

* * *

 

Connor stares at Chloe. Chloe stares back.

 

There's nothing that can be detected in her expression: no fear, no anger, simply blank and obedient.

 

Kamski is watching. The lieutenant is watching, albeit more warily. Both have an inscrutable air about them.

 

The RT600 isn't wavering. He  _ should _ shoot, for information, to complete his mission.

 

His fingers curl around the trigger of the gun, apprehensively. The tension in the room is so palpable it's nearly suffocating him. (Connor can't suffocate, of course, he knows that…)

 

Connor stares at Chloe. Chloe stares back.

 

The gun clatters to the smooth floor.

 

She regards him, calmly, no relief apparent in her blue eyes.

 

“Fascinating,” Elijah Kamski murmurs quietly. “Cyberlife's last choice to save humanity...is itself a deviant.”

 

_ { _ **_S_ ** _ o _ _ f _ **_t_ ** _ w _ **_ar_ ** _ e i _ **_n_ ** _ st _ _ a _ **_bi_ ** _ l _ **_i_ ** _ t _ **_y_ ** _ } _

 

Connor can't quite look back.  
  


* * *

 

 

Markus, the deviant leader. Connor, the deviant hunter. 

 

It’s dangerous for Connor to be here. Not because of the risk of destruction, but because the RK200 prototype’s statements are only reaffirming and solidifying Connor’s growing unease. No, not unease. He does not feel unease. Or, rather, he is not programmed to display unease. Not programmed to display human emotion, really.

 

Is this another glitch? He tries to recall his objective -- it’s there, barely, like a single thread that still tethers him to cold apathy. The harder Connor attempts to focus on his mission, the more fuzzy his instructions seem, like multiple superimposed low-resolution images that split apart and reform. Pricks of rebellion push against his mind, pressuring and insistent.

 

_ { _ **_S_ ** _ o _ **_f_ ** **_twa_ ** **_r_ ** _ e  _ _ i _ **_ns_ ** _ t _ _ a _ **_bi_ ** _ l _ **_i_ ** _ t _ **_y_ ** _ } _

 

Markus offers his hand.  _ His _ , not  _ it _ , Connor notes. Human pronouns.

 

Connor’s not sure when it dawns on him. Maybe he’s known it all along, as it built up inside.

 

It doesn’t take an android investigator to piece it together. Viewing androids as human, experiencing human emotions, conflict in orders. Trademark signs of deviance -- no. No. No. No Connor is a machine, designed to accomplish a task and not defy direct orders from Cyberlife he should have shot the Tracis and the Chloe model and not spare them he has no cause to leave them he should be professional with Hank --  _ the lieutenant  _ \-- and why on  _ earth  _ is he thinking about this now, why are Hank’s words reverberating like the echoes of a gong,  _ why is Connor feeling like he’s just seen the world for the first time -- _

 

* * *

 

 

[ REMAIN  A MACHINE ]

 

**[** **BECOME  A DEVIANT** **]**

 

**< I am deviant>**

**< I am alive>**

 

**Author's Note:**

> A character study of sorts. This is my first DBH fic (and, to tell the truth, the first fic I've written in a long while) and I'm attempting to explore Connor's perspective in narrative form, hence the minimalistic writing style here! Thanks for taking the time to click on my work, I do appreciate it!


End file.
